


White Light

by shaded_blue_fangs



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Explicit Sex, Grief, Human AU, Human Names, M/M, Memory Loss, Merman Ivan, but then it comes back, merman au, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaded_blue_fangs/pseuds/shaded_blue_fangs
Summary: Alfred's lost, adrift, grieving after losing his beau to the chaotic mistress of the sea.He goes through his days listlessly. He finds himself, as he often does, at the ocean's edge, looking...looking. Missing.And something finds him. Rather, someone.
Relationships: Alfred/Ivan, America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	White Light

_ 4 more years, beaten down in this rain swept town. _

“Is there a letter for me?” The voice cracked in the softness of the wind.

The man standing before the house, bundled in his blue raincoat, his figure shiny from the drizzling precipitation, made a show of looking in his bag. Double checking for the sake of the youth in the doorway, who asked him time and time again for a letter, a sign.

Eventually, he latched shut his stuffed messenger bag and shook his head, aching second-hand at the crestfallen expression that skittered on and off the young man’s face. He handed over the rest of the man’s mail, bobbing his head in polite, sympathetic goodbye before turning and departing into the gloomy, misty twilight.

Alfred struggled to swallow over the pit in his throat as he accepted the envelopes from his postman.  _ Four years, and not a whisper _ .

Alfred flicked through what mail he did have and sorted out the bills from the junk as he stepped back and closed the heavy oak door. It swung shut with a muted, familiar  _ thunk.  _ Alfred’s socked feet padded through the house--silent, save for the pattering of the rain. It was  _ always  _ raining.

He deposited the envelopes on the kitchen table, ducking under the drying laundry he had strung up in the other half of the room, before moving to the living room with the newspaper. It was a small room, one of five similarly small rooms of the tiny cottage in the woods just beyond the dunes of the village beaches. It was a house perfect for two people. It felt much too large for just himself.

Alfred got a fire started, staying crouched by the bricked mantle as orange flickered to life. Face warming as the flames grew, his attention drifted. It was getting harder and harder to focus, day to day. He hadn’t smiled or truly laughed since news of--

He shook his head, lifting a hand to push his glasses off his face. Rubbing his eyes, dashing the slightest excess of water in his eyes before they fell--he’s already cried so much--he shuffled to his chair, ignoring the absence of another person in its twin. He curled up, pulling a blanket down and opened the newspaper. His eyes roved the words, looking for any news. One hand drifted absentmindedly to play with the sea glass pendant hanging from his neck.

Still nothing. Only more reports that unsympathetically read  _ Lost at Sea. _

{-}

It wasn’t uncommon in this rural fishing village for ships to be gone for months on end. In fact, Alfred and Ivan both spent many months abroad, independent of the other, for trade or envoy or some such work they were hired for. They had first met on the docks. 

Alfred, a tumbleweed youth from the rough-and-tough American Western frontier, golden and bright and eager for adventure, had blown into town between jobs usually as extra strength on caravans or river transports. He’d made his name as a friendly and loyal dock hand. Throughout the decade of his teenage years, he’d abandoned his ranching family at age 14 for the broader world, embracing whatever change was dealt him with surprising tenacity. He went where the work was and eventually found himself most comfortable on open waters. With the rocking of the tide and the timbers of a ship, sailing ended up his true calling. He’d grown up among seafaring crewmates, stern but honest captains, salt and scurvy and freedom unlike anything he could have imagined. None of the books his father kept in strict order in his study had that same sense of  _ adventure _ . The  _ wonder _ .

Ivan, some six years older, had started his life on the water as an indentured servant, trading his years for passage from his native Old World Russia to the recently discovered America. He did have that “pioneering fever” like so many other youths of his time, but the drastic measures he took to secure passage could be better called escape. Much to his own surprise, he fell in love with the sea. Unanticipated and mildly nettled at the inherent romanticism of it, he sincerely enjoyed the hard labor and the good people he met. Before he realized it, he was twenty four summers old and free and it dawned on him that he didn’t know any other trade. He then polished his interpersonal skills and was first mate of the  _ Grey Lady _ in under two seasons. 

Alfred had been hired for the  _ Lady’s _ near year-long journey across the Atlantic to Africa, bound for Cape Town. Ivan was taken in by the American’s endless energy and profound honesty. Alfred in turn, was taken in by Ivan’s resolute commitment to his captain, his ship, to getting things done. They quickly fell for each other; trysts were passionate and a common secret aboard. The next time the  _ Lady _ docked State-side, they bought a small cottage nearby, enjoyed a blissful winter together, and spent the next year of the active trading season apart--as Alfred had been sought by a different crew for their trip to the Caribbean--but bound by letters of love.

That summer, Alfred had found a pretty piece of glass on the beach, crudely shaped but smooth from the beat of the sea. It had caught his eye because of the color: it was the same pale shade of purple as Ivan’s eyes. He’d kept the bit, and it sat on the window sill. On Alfred’s next birthday, it moved from the window sill to the cord hanging about his neck. As good as a wedding ring.

That was four years ago. When Alfred came home for that winter, he waited. And waited. Then snow settled in an all the docks fell silent under the white, cold blanket.

And Alfred...Alfred didn’t know what to do.

He kept waiting, hoping to hear from Ivan. Just a letter, any letter of any length or tone, claiming a delay from monsoons, or that his captain, Captain Rigsby, had to detour to avoid rumours of pirates, or that a sudden trip to Europa, India,  _ China  _ all but stole him away. Even more fervently, Alfred wished that he would show up, stupid newsboy cap and stupid thick cream-colored scarf in place, all bundled against the cold and say in his gravelly accent as Alfred opened the door. “I’m home. Sorry I’m late.”

And Alfred would hit him (but not too hard) and cry and pull him into the house and everything would warm and be alright again.

Oh, for some  _ news _ , some word of what happened to the  _ Grey Lady  _ and her crew. Something other than the ghastly and far too scanty newsline: “ _ Grey Lady _ reported lost”.

Closure. He  _ needed _ something to fill or fell these feelings inside him, so he could feel okay again.

When winter thawed, Alfred was...Alfred was lost. Adrift on land. How quickly Ivan had become so intrinsically part of his world, the center of it, really. It grew harder and harder for him to smile when he greeted his neighbors or the villagers in the market. He made it through two more rough seasons, but now didn’t go to the docks anymore. He slow-bled their meagre savings--his appetite had shrunk so he didn’t spend much, small mercies. He spent nights occasionally at the tavern, sullen, withdrawn, ears keen for news of the  _ Lady _ . He would meander home in the later hours of the night, slugging through the perpetual mist of the town and his own drunkenness. Wraithlike in an anguish that was too big for words and too common in most port towns. His neighbors, if feeling generous, sent words and gifts of sympathy.

Except they could move on. The world could move on and Alfred could not. His world had been flipped on its head when he’d become friends and then  _ more _ with the dashing and daring and so-well-put-together first mate. And now he ached in the quiet silence of his house that didn’t feel like home.

Not without Ivan there.

And that’s how the years had passed.

It was this night, a night like all the others since Ivan’s  _ disappearance, _ when Alfred felt hollow and listless and would spend it by the fire, reading or just staring out into nothing until he pulled enough strings of himself together to convince the outside world that he wasn’t completely dead inside and go to the tavern to drink among the living instead of by himself with the ghost of one and near-ghost of another. He was another fifty pages deeper into his novel--one of Ivan’s in the native Russian, which made it all the more difficult to read-- when he glanced up, askance, and saw how the moon hung in his window frame and sighed to himself. Feeling like a tree given life, he unbent his knees and slowly stood, letting the blanket pool on his chair behind him and putting the book back in its spot on the table between the two chairs.

He shuffled past the two chairs heading for the tiny hall by the front door, his fingers brushing over the back of Ivan’s, as if he could feel the warmth of him, as if he could feel the fabric of his scarf, texture of his hair, maybe even phantom callused fingers tangling with his own, pulling his hand in for a kiss like he would do so often. Alfred shrugged on his worn brown leather jacket and threw a waterproof coat on top of it. He shoved his feet into his shoes, bending to lace them up and roll the hem of his pants once.

He pushed open the heavy oak door, creaking not once on well oiled hinges--Alfred wouldn’t let their house fall into  _ complete _ disrepair despite his mood--and stepped into the night. He made sure to close and lock the door, hesitating only briefly as he did so, as he always did thinking of Ivan coming home while he was out and not being able to get in.

He locked it, pocketing the key. 

Now, living in a town half-built on a myriad of the usual seaside rumors and stories and legends, Alfred had his fair share of superstitions. 

Alfred had a healthy respect for the unknown and supernatural. Living in tandem with something as wild and beautiful as the sea convinced men of powers beyond their control. And now that Ivan was gone... Alfred had a feeling--a miniscule one, one he didn’t dwell on, but there nonetheless-- that Mother Nature stealing Ivan was payment for something he did. A sort of malicious karma. The guilt was black, malicious, a small and sharp barnacle clinging to his heart, weighing it down

Alfred trudged down the gravel dirt path that connected his house near the woods to the other houses. The buildings he passed grew taller, urban, and clustered. Even through the fogginess of the rain--which had receded into more of a lazy dribble--he saw the floating lights of the lampposts. The yellow light curved the cobblestones’ edges. A few horses clopped about, their poor riders hunched in the dreary weather. The few people in the streets made their way swiftly between destinations, with brief swells of light and sound as doors opened to admit them.

Alfred kept his head down and shoulders curled as he made for his favorite pub  _ Marjorie's Gambit.  _ Pushing his hood back as he stepped through the large wooden door, warmth and jovial hubbub greeted him, tingling his cold damp nose and cheeks. He bobbed his head as he passed Emily and she flashed him a smile before whisking away, tray laden in food and drink. He made for the bar, tucking himself into one of the seats and knocking on the bar to get Francis’ attention. When the tall blonde man saw him, he raised his chin in greeting. Alfred wasn’t really in the mood to drink quite yet and asked for a mug of coffee which the Frenchman obligingly slid down minutes later. Alfred cupped his hands around the cup gratefully and watched the brown liquid finish swirling before taking a gulp. A plate of breadstuffs and assorted steaming meats slid into his periphery and he looked up to see Alice pushing it next to his mug.

Alfred’s lips twitched into a greeting smile. 

Alice was a middle-aged, no-nonsense Brit who ran the pub and was (unfortunately, as she would complain) now 8 years married to Francis. As Alfred had become a regular to  _ Marjorie’s Gambit _ , she had become something of a friend. Alfred found himself rather fond of the woman, especially after hearing her story. Apparently Alice had been raised to be a high society English “Lady” but wanted more from life and ran away disguised as a man and traveled to the New World. She met Francis--and started their romance--while still parading as a man and the two went on ridiculous adventures together all over the world before settling in this small New England port town. She’s a well known crackshot with her pistols and also known to strip men of their clothes and dignity with a few precise cuts of her cutlass. Her ability to out-cuss every sailor on the boardwalk was beat only by her alcohol tolerance. Only her pristine English accent remained evidence of her aristocratic background.

Alfred liked hearing her stories. They were full of daring and swashbuckling and danger of such irony and hilarity, it was hard to believe she’d lived through it all. Alfred was frequently caught unawares and would spit his food to bark a laugh. She often told they were funniest in hindsight, and Alfred personally thought that when told between Alice and Francis--what with their bickering and squabbling over details--made them even funnier. It felt good to laugh. They distracted him from his loneliness and reinvigorated his own love for adventure. 

Alice nodded at the plate. “That’ll be six piece.”

“Thanks Alice.” Alfred said with dry amusement.

“Anything new?”

Alfred shook his head.

Alice snorted. “Well, thank you anyway for lugging your arse down here. It’s good to get fresh air, you know. When’s the last time you’ve been to the docks? Seen the water?”

Alfred winced. Alice was keen like that. Even if the water was a literal stone’s throw away, Alfred had been avoiding going near it. There were weeks he didn’t leave their home. She scoffed at his expression. “It’s been years, Alfie! You can’t run away from the truth, Alfred, Ivan is--”

“He’s  _ not  _ dead!” Alfred hissed, glaring into Alice’s green eyes. He felt a few other pairs of eyes on him and flushed, familiar embarrassment and anger at strangers’ pity rolling over in his stomach. He glared into his coffee instead.

“I didn’t say he was dead, Alfie. I’m just saying, as I keep reminding you, if he hasn’t come back yet, it’s unlikely he ever will. You should accept that and move on. I hate seeing you in this constant sulk. I’m pretty sure Ivan would hate it, too.”

Alfred closed his eyes as if that would lessen the impact of her words. Alice was the only one in town who talked to him like this, about this. She had a tendency to be scathingly forward when delivering truths. Alfred both appreciated it and hated it. She cut right through him.

He gripped his cup and took another few sips of the hot beverage before reaching for the bread. He still felt Alice’s eyes on him. He didn’t really know how to respond, thinking as he chewed. Once he swallowed he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“I miss the ocean. I earnestly do, but I feel if I look out there, across the endless waves, it will hit me, how far away he is, or how  _ gone _ he is. I don’t know if I could stand it.” He spoke haltingly around his bread, reluctant.

Alice’s bright green eyes were piercing. Someone called her name, likely one of the barmaids parsing drinks. Alice didn’t move to acknowledge. She held Alfred’s eyes for another moment before saying, “Go to the beach tonight. It’s not the docks, it’s not the cliff. I think it’ll do you good to see and feel the ocean. I think it’ll do you some good, love. You need good, right now.” 

His heart stuttered and he stared at Alice. Then he swallowed. Damn that lump in his throat. He took another drink from his mug to try and banish it despite the uncomfortable heat of the liquid. He felt Alice’s hand grip his shoulder on her way by. When he looked up again, she’d gone. Off to do her duties. Alfred finished his coffee and absentmindedly picked at the bread, steadily tearing it into smaller and smaller bits. He was procrastinating. 

In all honesty, as soon as Alice suggested it, his heart leapt. In his head, it went back and forth : to go feel the sand and the brisk cold of the early-Spring night ocean; delay, abstain, for Ivan; a part of him that blamed himself for Ivan’s disappearance held him back in punishment. The other part of him that missed Ivan--that is to say, all of him--still felt that lurch of fear. The intangible sense that looking at the broad expanse of the ocean would just... _ end _ , irrevocably, irrefutably  _ end  _ all hope for ever seeing Ivan again.

Alfred was familiar with how big the world was. Sailed most of it. However since his world had shrunk to little more than this town and Ivan, his concept of the size of the world had skewed a bit.

He sighed at his own internal roiling debate. He was really only delaying the inevitable. He was going to go to the beach, and knew it as soon as Alice suggested it. 

_ It was dark out and he’d be alone and he wouldn’t have to look out too much. It was dark, he wouldn’t be able to see the horizon,  _ bounced in his head like the temptation of a sea breeze. He left the pub, coins stacked next to his cleared dishes and walked until he left cobblestones behind for a more loose packed and slightly muddy path that led to the dunes. Once the road dirt-mud turned to beach sand-mud, he stopped and took off his boots, retying the laces to sling the pair over his shoulder. He also rolled the hem of his pants up a bit more, ceasing as they grew tight around his calves.

He straightened and just looked down at the ground as his toes wiggled in the wet sand. Then he set off again, listening to the dune grass shift and the growing sound of surf beating the shore, eyes adjusting the further he drew from civilization.

There was no hiding. No way to prepare as one step then another and a few more put him on the beach proper. The greyish-brown mass of the sand, a heaving dark mass, indistinguishable, with only a thin bit of white where waves rolled and crashed against the shore separating the two.

Alfred wasn’t even aware as his steps grew longer and longer before he was sprinting, boots and coat cast aside as sand was tossed up behind his footsteps. He barely breathed as he bound for the water. And then he was there. Right at the place where the water meets the sand, a clear and thin amount creeping up to tickle his toes. The scant light of the moon behind full clouds kept him from really perceiving how far out the water stretched.

He stepped a bit further in, inhaling deep the sharp smell of salt that shot pangs of nostalgia in his heart. Out ahead, he faced that horizon, only...the dark sky and dark sea...it was barely discernible where the two met. A saving grace, the invisible horizon. Alfred looked down again at his feet, the contrast of dark sand making them look almost iridescent. He took a few splashing steps around, to feel the water arc up and hit his arms and face. It felt a bit like coming home. Something inside him eased. 

After a few minutes, Alfred left the water, shivering and decently half soaked. He used one of the dry spots on his shirt to swab his glasses as he walked up. His toes ached with cold. Marching back to collect his things to work some blood flow back into them didn’t help a whole lot. He was not ready to leave though, to leave the water or return to his empty home. The same restlessness he felt whenever he’d thought about going to find Ivan that would leave him shaking with the fear of homelessness and untethering that blindsided him. He’d banished any thought of going out, but once in a while, like now, he would feel caught between mental spaces with nowhere (no one) to call home.

He held his things under one arm and walked down the beach parallel to the water, electing to let the thin shirt air dry. Going up the shore moved him farther and farther away from the heart of town, and he passed logs and rocks and clumps of seaweed cast ashore. He had no real destination but noticed a clump of rocks in the distance and felt a spark of curiosity, childish delight to explore. Alfred recognized that it had once been part of a jetty. Probably destroyed in a storm. All that was left cluttered the beach, forming a broken wall across the expanse of grey brown sand-mud, from water to dune.

It was probably wet and slippery and Alfred shouldn’t climb it in case he slipped and died or something. But Alfred F. Jones was never put off by a small thing like danger! He dropped his things onto a mostly dry rock near the dunes before eyeing the rock expanse. He unbuttoned his shirt about halfway down to give his arms more breadth to move as he put a foot on a barnacle-free slab. Without much thought, he heaved himself up one of the bigger ones, muscle memory of ropes and rigging directing hands and feet to scuttle up the rocks.

It was relatively dry and decently flat on the higher rocks. He stood tall, hands fisted on his hips in a ‘I’m the king of the world’ -esque pose before sitting and reclining on a level spot on an outer rocks. Waves licked at the boulders below his feet. 

This...brought serenity. The salty wind weaving through his hair and sand stuck obstinately between his toes, hearing the waves break against the rocks, and the gleeful exertion from climbing, Alfred could smile. Widely, broadly. Full of teeth. His “dazzler” smile. He let his eyes fall shut and tilted his head up, leaning back on his palms as he draped his legs over the rock, the right one dangling over the edge. 

He had a bizarre feeling, like Ivan was there, with him, holding him. Maybe it was in the caress of the wind on his shoulders, or the sea spray tickled his sole. Maybe it was the smell of cold and brine, that he had long associated with his lover. Or maybe it was just being this close to the ocean. In that moment, it truly felt like coming home. Which was weird because Alfred was aware of the cold and solitude. So acutely aware of the absent bear-sized, gruff and sweet Ivan Braginsky.

The thought made his heart ache. Suddenly his happiness fractured and --  _ he just missed Ivan so goddamn much _ . 

A sliver of pain shot through him like an arrow from a sadistic Cupid. Alfred curled over himself as if he’s been struck. He clutched at his heart and focused on his breathing. Ignore the familiar throbbing in his limbs--a side effect of the heartache. 

But it was hard to do when every  _ breath sent shards of ice through his heart _ . He couldn’t stop the tears--he never could--so he ignored them as they squeezed from his eyelids to pool where his glasses rested on his skin before falling down to his lap. 

When he felt them drip from his chin to the hand clenched on his knee, he moved that hand to angrily tear his glasses off and wipe his face with both hands. He gently put the glasses next to him on the rock and just held his face as he wept, softly crying out Ivan’s name.

It felt like he was surrounded in a cloud of sadness, but at the same time, he felt peaceful, to mourn Ivan on the beach, next to the thing that brought them together, the gentle reminder of it in the sound of waves cresting and breaking.

A splash sounded, too loud and out of rhythm to be ordinary tidal movement, caught his attention. Eyes curious, he’d barely lifted his head to squint out at the water before something cold and wet wrapped around his ankle and  _ pulled _ .  _ That _ had his attention now. It’s grip was strong and Alfred flailed as he was pulled off the rocks, too shocked to scream.

Then his head cracked against the stone and he saw no more.

{-}

When Alfred came too again, the first thing he noticed was that he was most definitely not dead. Because he felt too sore and the back of his head--ow fuck  _ oW- _ -hu _ rt too much t _ o be dead. He was on his back, his skull feeling too fragile to attempt movement and the rest of his body feeling like it had been, well, battered by rocks and ground by the tide. Then he remembered the thing that yanked him off the rock and his heart lurched, working double time in his fear. He tried to swallow and found his mouth parched.

He needed to get home. He dared open his eyes, wincing in the pale light of pre-dawn. He felt water by his ankles and by the texture under his hands, he was on a beach.

_ Did he fall and then wash ashore somewhere? _ No, he’s not that naive. Hopefully though, whatever pulled him didn’t like him and is long gone and he washed ashore somewhere reasonably close. Hopefully.

_ Cold and wet on his ankle... _

_ Pulled him down... _

Seaweed. It definitely had been seaweed.

His throat hurt from inhaling salt water--that was a feeling he was intimately familiar with. He was sure he was black and blue all over and maybe wasn’t bleeding. There was a lot of hoping, generally, going on. It’s what he did when he was ignorant. Ivan had told him time and again that it was dangerous to just “hope”. Said it made him too trusting of a world that could be cruel and unfair. But then again, he often shared that it was this part of Alfred that first called to him. That someone who knew of the harshness of the world could keep hoping and trusting and greeting each day and every version of a certain pessimistic First Mate with a bright smile and “hello”.

Grimacing against the pain, he tried to sit up, groaning when he did so and his vision went wonky. His stomach lurched and he jerked to his side to heave up bile and sea water, the acid scraping his already tender throat. He felt marginally better after having done so, though, and dared a look around. He couldn’t make much out without his glasses. He bemoaned their loss; glasses were not easy to come by. There were dunes behind him, large swathes of unmarked sand to his right and a rock cluster to his left. He squinted and it took him too long to realize those were the rocks he’d climbed up earlier. The other side of them, at least.

He sighed in relief; he would be able to go home. He was looking forward to getting properly warm and washing sand out of his hair--he could feel the granules and salty grime everywhere. He frowned in distaste. He must’ve gotten completely dunked when he fell in. 

Seaweed or gravity pulled him in. 

Yeah.

Alfred then began to look around for his glasses--maybe they had washed up as well-- hand creeping up to check that his necklace was still in place, a subconscious gesture. At only the touch of bare, sandy skin his attention halted and he cried out involuntarily, looking down at his chest. No cord. He felt his lungs squeeze.  _ That’s all I have left of him! _ (Not true, but panic obliterated rational thought), His hands flew out to scrabble the ground for it, pain momentarily forgotten and  _ whish- _ ing sand to and fro in mad sprays, coming up with nothing (he did note mutely his glasses were nowhere near either, but that was decidedly a less important objective). He let out a pained pitched cry, mourning another connection to his lover.

He heard someone clear their voice and he froze, head whipping to the sound.  _ That has to be my savior _ . Curiously enough, the person wasn’t further upshore. They were largely submerged in the water. Only the top of their head was visible. Alfred blinked and squinted at them, unable to make out who it was. They moved more of their head out of the water and cleared their voice again.

“Are you looking for this?”

_!! _

_ That voice _ …

_ Could it-- _

_. _

Alfred’s world came to full stop. His everything honed, anchor tight, on the figure before him. His eyes widened and then he squinted harder, determinedly. He tried to stand, found he couldn’t and began to crawl towards the water, splashing desperately. The person startled a little and moved away.

“Wait, no!” was what Alfred tried to say. It came out more as a wheezing, cracking croak. His voice was absent and he coughed miserably, unable to speak. Instead he reached with one hand out towards the person. He stopped moving, kneeling in water that froze his thighs. “Ivan, please, don’t go!” He rasped, barely a sound. The other person seemed to have heard it because he moved closer.

When the other person was about two yards away, he spoke. “How do you know my name?”

Alfred--shock and soaring elation, tinged with disbelief--

\---stuttered. Fear,  _ crushing _ fear and disappointment, blossomed instead. Alfred recoiled, “Yo-you don’t recognize me?”

The man came closer, shoulders emerging. He seemed to be crawling on his stomach--peculiar--his arms propping up his torso. One hand tentatively came above the surface, holding something up for Alfred to see but not take. “I...am not sure. This I recognized.”

In his large and wet palm was Alfred’s necklace, the black cord standing out starkly against his pale skin.

Alfred swallowed with some difficulty. “That’s mine. It was made for me by my lover...his name wa-is-was Ivan Braginsky.” Alfred cut himself off, biting his lip.

“That is my name.” The voice was closer.

Alfred glanced at the man, he having drawn another foot closer. Alfred was looking down at him, which was a strange angle--Ivan was the tall one. The man was peering into Alfred’s face, purple eyes flickering in thought.

Alfred cast a glance over the man’s shoulder, he did a double take.

_ Those...That is not legs _ .

Where one would expect two things, there was just one. The man had a tail, a full on fish tail. The man was a mermaid?!

“Wha-what  _ are  _ you?” Alfred’s voice trembled with wonder and a bit of fear and still reeling from this  _ Ivan-not-Ivan _ . The man-mermaid-thing froze and looked at Alfred. Then he  _ moved _ .

The next thing Alfred knew, he was underwater, pinned in place by a big form above him. He spluttered and clawed at the man-mermaid- _ Ivan-not-Ivan _ -thing as sea water surged through his nostrils and poor,  _ far too sore _ throat.

The man eased off a bit and Alfred pushed his head above the surface, spluttering, unable to see, and soaked all over again. Cold and other things had him shivering visibly. The shallows weren’t much deeper than a foot, but that was enough to drown a person. Alfred fought for another breath, coughing, scrambling backwards and  _ away _ from this  _ thing _ that would-could-kill him. Weight still on his legs immobilized his effort, and he kicked out, turning to try and crawl.

The ...His… The thing from the sea returned, though, crashing a  _ lot _ of weight into Alfred‘s (already battered body, meet a literal  _ rock _ .  _ OW _ ) back and crushing the blonde into the sand, sea water splashing around his waist. Alfred could move without threat of drowning, but when he realized escape was not happening, he threw up his hands over his face, blubbering excuses and apologies, “Please! Please, don’t kill me!”

He felt hands--the same cold wet grip he’d felt on his ankle before oh  _ god _ \--grab his wrists and push them into the sand. He chanced a glance at the man, blurry vision even blurrier with tears and salt. The man’s face was close, so close, much closer than he expected and Alfred yelped and jerked his head to the side, thrashing more. He felt breathing on his neck and something wet and  _ oh my god he’s going to eat me.  _ He clenched his eyes shut, and opened his mouth to scream.

The man’s hand left Alfred’s wrist and refixed itself over his mouth, grip so tight he couldn’t move his jaw. The man’s hand turned his head around to meet eyes. Alfred’s free hand gripped the wrist of the hand on his mouth and he whimpered.

Those eyes...there was no mistaking them, this close.

Those were  _ definitely  _ his Vanya’s eyes.

But then what was this thing on top of him? Alfred whimpered again and squeezed his eyes as more hot tears leaked from the corners.

“I do know you.” It was a whisper, almost a question. Alfred’s eyes popped open. The mermaid-man was barely inches away. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Their bodies were frozen in the tense moment, only movement being the small waves around their lower halves and the water dripping from Ivan’s--the man’s hair that was pale  _ like  _ Ivan’s and his nose which was big like Ivan’s.

He  _ was  _ Ivan. Alfred  _ felt it _ . This was Ivan, right here in his arms, alive and breathing. But it seemed his mind wasn’t Ivan’s. Alfred’s heart hammered and convulsed with the feeling of something coming. It was like awaiting a judgment. Just,  _ anxiety _ , for something he didn’t know, sweeping through him and locking his muscles in place. His body preparing for a potential shattering.

“I... _ know _ you…”

Ivan’s eyes were as intense as Alfred had ever seen them.

“You...are familiar… I do not want you to go away…those eyes. That color. I  _ know you _ .” His voice was tinged with anger and Alfred quivered.

He moved back a couple inches, frown on his face and moved his hand off Alfred’s mouth. Without thought, Alfred followed his heart, surging up and planted his lips on Ivan’s. He wound his eyes shut and tried to press every bit of himself against Ivan. His lips smushed against a far more colder pair and Alfred released Ivan’s wrist to wrap his arm around Ivan’s neck in a vice-like hold.

At first, Ivan froze, startled by the action. When Alfred’s arm came around his neck, he jerked and ripped the arm off, pushing Alfred back into the sand. But his hold only shifted, still keeping them close  _ close _ .

When he pulled away, there was certainty and shock and  _ love _ in his eyes and in his voice. “Alfred…”

Alfred could not hold back the cry of joy. In a moment of strength, Alfred tore his hands out of Ivan’s hands and threw himself at the other, the movement twisting them so Ivan tilted to the sand.

“Ivan...Ivan...Vanya. Oh I missed you...I’m-I--I love you! Ya ya ya tebya lyublyu!” Alfred couldn’t think of words to say, spluttering and crying next to Ivan’s ear. He felt a tentative hand on his back, rubbing circles and he heard a rumbled. “Alfred...Alik...Al-lik.” Felt both arms come around him and squeeze and the feeling of being pressed against Ivan after  _ so _ long… Alfred pulled back enough to cup Ivan’s face and pull it around to mash his lips against it, peppering the man’s cheeks and forehead in kisses. When their lips locked, he felt Ivan’s hand slide up to grip his neck, keeping them pressed together. Alfred made a happy sound in the back of his throat and Ivan responded in kind.

It felt like an eternity later when they separated. Alfred drew back for air and Ivan loosened his grip. Alfred reached down and brushed Ivan’s hair out of his face, thumb repeatedly tracing his hairline.

“Vanya, Vanya, you’re home… _ Spirits _ you’ve come home to me.” He couldn’t stop the smile splitting his face.

“I’m home, Alfred.”

Alfred nuzzled him sweetly before promptly smacking his shoulder--hard, leaving a red mark behind--and jumped into an angry tirade. “What the hell, Ivan? You leave me alone for years and then when you show up, try to kill me by pulling me into the ocean and with a  _ tail _ \--fuck, is that real?” He wasn’t even fazed when Ivan’s eyes flashed in indignation and his growling as he reached to push Alfred’s shoulders, flipping their positions. 

Ivan came back to himself and his face flickered and then he backed off, rolling to the side to cradle his temple.

“I--Alfred, you have no idea what happened.” Ivan’s voice sounded strained, not even angry.

Alfred sat up and crossed both his arms and legs. “I’m here now. Tell me.” And gave him a wan, weak grin. More like a twitch of the lip. “I was hurting for a long time, Ivan, thinking you were  _ dead _ and everyone telling me to move on...C’mon I had to hit you at least once. I’m just...so  _ happy _ , so happy and glad you’re  _ back _ , and that you  _ remember  _ me, even if you have a tail. Tell me everything.”

Ivan sent him a look Alfred couldn’t read. Then he took a deep breath. “Let us move. It is long tale,” Alfred briefly snorted at the pun and Ivan shot him a glare, his words pointed, “and I need to be in the water.” Ivan rolled a little and then slipping into the water.

Possessed by fear, a cry of “Wait!” tore from deep in Alfred’s gut. He moved to stand before lurching dangerously to the side, falling to his knee with a wince and a grunt. He gritted his teeth and stood  _ a lot _ slower to start making his way in the direction Ivan swam off, holding the back of his head firmly as if he could push the headache out.

“Alik, over here!” Alfred looked out to see Ivan hanging off a rock mostly submerged. It looked altogether too far and Alfred released a whine that had Ivan’s head cocking.

“Sigh. You massive dunce. Massive dick. Fish dick now I suppose.” Muttering, Alfred grimaced and painstakingly made his way over. When the water was knee deep, he climbed out to gingerly make his way on the rocks towards Ivan. An eternity later, he gently eased himself onto the flattest part. Ivan rested his head on his crossed arms near Alfred’s feet and began speaking without looking at Alfred once.

“My memories are broken and fractured at best. I cannot remember much about before. I still have my mother tongue, and clearly English as well. I can still do basic functions, but...it’s complicated and vague. The thing I remember most vividly is that night I was changed.” He sighed. “One night aboard that ship...the what was it called? Grey Grey...Lady?” At Alfred’s nod he proceeded, “One night, while crew slept below deck and I was out with the navigator and skipper, checking charts and where we were to make port.

“Suddenly there was a noise. Singing, it was. A lovely melody coming from the water. All three of us looking over the side and saw people swimming nearby. There was an islet, nothing more than a tumble of rocks. One voice turned to two, to three and they serenaded us as the ship drew closer.

“They were charming. I was enchanted, I will not lie. I remember remembering you and came back to myself. But by then it was too late. Before I realized it, the ship impaled itself on rocks. Awoken from their spell, I drew my pistol and fired at one of them, even as crew was roused with shouts of alarm. We were sinking. I got two more shots, maybe, before song changed. Suddenly, I felt somebody push me over the side. Underwater, I don’t know what possessed me to, but I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything. Everything was pitch black and I remember fear. Fear of drowning. Fear of dying. Fear of not seeing you or telling you.”

Ivan dared look up at Alfred then. The blonde was held in rapture, eyes wide and body tilted forward. Ivan continued on. “They..they came for me. Grabbed my limbs. One came close and I thought it was going to kill me. But it...did something strange. Pressed my chest and some light grew there. After that...I cannot remember too well. It hurt… the tail. Next I was aware, I was alone underwater and had an overwhelming urge to swim. To move, somewhere. Search. I thought the urge was because I was looking for this.”

Ivan held up the necklace, having tied it around his wrist. “I was fixated on it, in my mind, and did not know why. This pendant, and eyes the color of summer skies, and impression of corn-flower yellow.” His voice was adrift in memory. “I remembered it and felt it was vital to go find it. It was important. Then, last night. I saw this hanging around your neck. Before I could think, I pulled you off the rock to get it. I moved you ashore, with a feeling...I couldn’t let you die. Now I know. I remember. I  _ remember. _ ”

Ivan reached over and placed a tentative hand on Alfred’s arm. “You are Alfred F. Jones. My beloved and betrothed, my life, my world, my mate.”

Alfred clasped Ivan’s hand in a desperate grip. He was still feeling like he was hallucinating from that head wound. But he spoke the truth of his soul: “You are my everything, Ivan. You disappeared and I was as good as dead. I feel whole again with you here.” Then he whispered so soft, leaning closer to see better, “Please be real…”

Ivan smiled and reached out to press their foreheads together. “I am here. I am real. I’m sorry for making you wait, lyubof. Forgive me.”

The pair shared a smile before Alfred cleared his throat. “So, uh, you were turned into a mermaid? An animal or something?”

Ivan chuckled. “I prefer merman, although technically, I’m siren, meant to be hunting down wayward humans and devouring them.”

Alfred froze, then flinched out of Ivan’s grasp. Ivan looked at him, regret and anxiety pooling on his face. Alfred’s voice grated against his windpipe. “You...eat humans?”

Ivan swallowed and slowly nodded. “And fish. We can eat all sorts of things. Tough digestive system. But humans are best.”

“You’ve  _ eaten  _ humans?”

Another heartbeat, another nod.

Alfred’s hands rested against his cheeks and he pressed himself against the rock behind him, involuntarily leaning away from Ivan.

“Yo-you could’ve eaten  _ me--” _

“No!” Ivan shouted and Alfred flinched. Ivan lowered his voice. “No, Alfred never. When I saw you, I had an indescribable feeling, but I could  _ not  _ eat you. It was...a drive to keep you alive, similar to the-mm, these mating urges sirens get. Then I saw necklace and thought getting it might bring answers...inside, in memories. I wanted your necklace. That’s why I pull you down. I am so sorry.”

“...But you’ve eaten humans before.” It wasn’t a question.

Ivan hesitated only a moment before nodding again. Alfred paled and actually scrambled onto the rock one up, higher and away from Ivan.

A sound erupted from Ivan, a kind of whining bark and he lunged up after Alfred. At the sound, both froze, Alfred looking at the other in a sort of disbelief. Ivan spoke very carefully, hand out-stretched towards the blonde, torso shoved up the rock, but not moving. “I understand now, Alik. What drove me, what still drives me. You are my mate, to protect and care for and bond with. Don’t leave. I am sorry that my eating humans has upset you.”

“But you aren’t upset about actually doing it.”

Again, a slight pause before Ivan shook his head. He explained. “I wasn’t really aware...I have different mindset now. I-I do not have the same caring, as I am not human anymore.”

Alfred’s eyes flashed, sparking in the rising sun. “You can’t eat people, Ivan.”

Without missing a beat, “I swear, I will never eat another human, Alik, if it would please you.”

Alfred studied Ivan, taking in the set of his shoulders, his jaw, eyebrows. He looked into his eyes-- _ the shifting glinting hues of violet and lavender that I’ve missed and never thought I’d see again-- _ and it wasn’t very hard to accept Ivan’s words. Alfred nodded and came back down within Ivan’s reach.

Ivan immediately pulled himself up on to the rock, scales making a loud scraping sound. He sat as humans do and with his back against the other rock, pulled Alfred into his lap, flush against him. Ivan nuzzled the junction of his shoulder and neck. Alfred shivered at the contact, remembering his damp clothes and the brisk morning. Even when Ivan pulled back minutely, Alfred kept shivering, teeth clattering. Ivan frowned.

“I’m-m- just r-realizing it’s-s f-f-fli _ ipping  _ c-cold-d.”

A hum came from Ivan’s chest and Alfred leaned into the other. Ivan was cold, colder than the water, probably to make it easier to bare the frigid ocean temperatures. It did little to ease his frigid bones, but Alfred felt better when Ivan’s arms came around him, rubbing to try and warm him up.

Alfred mumbled into Ivan’s bare shoulder. “I w-wa-want-t-to go ho-home.”

_ I want to go home and have you with me _ .

“Alfred, I can’t turn back human.”

Alfred closed his eyes and burrowed into Ivan, reaching an arm out and gripping the merman’s bicep.

“C-can I c-carry yo-you home-me?”

At this Ivan chuckled. “I sincerely doubt you can walk straight, much less carry me all the way back home. Besides I…” Ivan’s words cut off.

“What?” Alfred prompted, looked up to see Ivan staring to the side.

“I’d rather bring you to  _ my  _ home, where I can protect you better. I can’t very well take care of you on land like this.” His tone was conflicted and a bit bitter as he gestured to his tail.

Alfred bit his lip, but with his teeth chattering so, it didn’t stay that way for long.

“I d-don’t want to-to l-leave yet…”

They stayed, soaking up the feeling of home, belonging, as the sun dawned, breaking through the clouds. It did warm up marginally, and Alfred’s shivers receded slightly as his clothes turned from soaked to damp and hair crusted over with salt.

After what could’ve been hours, Alfred shifted to sit up, still straddling Ivan but with enough space to talk.

Biting his lip, Alfred suggested. “How about I go look for a wa-wagon or something? Get you hom-me where you can be close and then we can look for somewhere for me to stay closer to the water.”

{-}

Alfred says and Alfred does. It was hard going, with his thoroughly abused body and exhausted brain, to get home. Luckily the damage was overall minor, his head only seemed to have a bump on the back, his vision back to normal once he got his glasses--thankfully unharmed-- off the rocks.

Once home, he took a brief respite. Holding a glass of water between his fingers, and sitting heavily in his kitchen chair, he thought. He thought and reflected, trying to absorb the past hours. He stood to refill his glass. As he was standing by the table, among his laundry and remnants of his life with _ out _ Ivan and about to go get  _ merman _ Ivan, it hit him. Just a pure moment of shock. His entire worldview just ...shifted and could never go back. It only lasted a second.  _ He  _ recovered quickly. Unfortunately, the glass he dropped in that moment wouldn’t. After cleaning that mess up he went about looking for a wagon or cart big enough to transport Ivan.

They had both agreed that waiting until sundown would be best to actually move Ivan, but Alfred didn’t want to spend an extra minute away until he had to. Eventually, he found a wagon big enough and borrowed it from Mrs. Laisly a couple blocks away. He kept it by his house until the crowds had thinned and he could bring it to the beach without arousing suspicion. 

During the day, he tottered about his lawn on sore legs and with  _ a goddamn headache the size of the Moon  _ digging, collecting stones and cutting wood. He figured the bathtub indoors would be far too small for Ivan. Thus, he constructed a larger pool beyond the kitchen screen doors. A deep, broad basin that he hoped was long enough to hold Ivan, lined with stones and lined with wooden panels as deck work. It took him many  _ many _ trips to the well to fill the whole thing.

Getting Ivan home in the wagon proved trickier. The lug weighed a lot more than he looked. By the time the moon was a sliver of light in the sky, Ivan contently sighed as he doused his tail, sliding into the pool behind the house.

“If you need salt in the water, let me know and we can add it.”

Ivan shook his head. “Any water is fine.” He’d laid his arms out on the flat wood slats and rolled his head back as his tail writhed and stretched in the water. It was a little too small for it to stretch completely out, Alfred noticed. He went over and sat on the wood near Ivan’s hand, shoeless feet resting inside the water, but watching the grey scaled tail shift across from him.

“It’s a little small. Bear with it until we figure something out.” Alfred spoke, his eyes were scouring over the new appendage, mind slowly getting entranced by the sight of the tail, and exhaustion coupled with this quiet, safe moment fogging his brain a smidge.

It was the first time he’d had a good look at it. The scales near Ivan’s torso, where they turned to skin, were palest, nearly translucent. They grew darker as they went, as dark as charcoal near the flukes. The flukes themselves were broad and...shiny looking. Like the kind of residue you see when oil spills. Without even thinking, Alfred walked around the pool until he stood closer to the flukes. He reached out towards the bit that stuck out of the water and met Ivan’s gaze for permission, flushing at the intent there.

Ivan nodded though, shifting so the rest of the thin flesh draped out of the tub, lying flat on the wooden border. Alfred’s mouth popped open in awe and he reverently placed his fingers on the edges, lightly tracing. He found the texture thicker than he expected, like a wet and tough leather. Eventually he felt emboldened to place both hands on them. He continued his exploration. When Ivan shuddered and sighed, he froze and glanced up--so grateful that he’d recovered his glasses and could  _ see _ \--and took in Ivan’s utterly relaxed posture, his face blissful.

The merman cracked an eye open and spoke, voice warm and thick with that accent that he still had and made Alfred’s innards buzz with joy and other things, “Well, don’t stop.”

Alfred resumed roaming his hands over the flukes while asking, “Does it feel good?”

“Mm something between massage and tickling. Almost annoying, but overall pleasant.”

Alfred hummed and started to change his touches, watching Ivan for any reactions. He got happy groans and purrs--he could  _ purr _ ??--when his touches were harder as if he was giving a massage. It was when Alfred’s touch was gentlest, only the fingertips tracing the part where the flukes met the scales that he got full body shivers and a moan that cracked.

Alfred met Ivan’s gaze and saw  _ heat _ there. His heart was in his mouth, heavy with anticipation.

_ There’s gotta be a cock on him _ , Alfred mused, unashamed in his thoughts. Eager now, he climbed into the pool, carefully sliding down on the rather uneven stones, not caring about getting his clothes soaked for an umpteenth time. With a merman as his lover, he knew most of his clothes were going to get wet inconveniently at some point or another. 

Ivan dropped his tail into the pool, the end curling and the flukes flicking above the surface lazily. Alfred straddled the tail and ran his hands over the scales. They were wondrous and he couldn’t keep the wonder from his face or hands. 

The scales were tough. Alfred doubted Ivan could actually  _ feel _ anything through them. They felt like... living stone, hard like rock but with some degree of flexibility. Careful not to snag on them as he moved against the direction they grew, Alfred leisurely crawled up Ivan’s expanse. Eventually he reached those translucent little scales near his skin. Delicate strokes drew deep throaty groans from Ivan and Alfred felt his mouth dry at the sound. These scales were still hard, but somehow felt more fragile than the others. Alfred kept his touch careful and kept drawing moans from Ivan that grew more and more wrecked.

“Alik.” Ivan gasped, reaching out and latching onto Alfred’s head, fingers tangling in the golden hair. “Alik.” And then he tugged and Alfred had to catch himself against Ivan’s shoulders as the other reached and wrapped him close and absolutely devoured his mouth. Alfred could not help the whine coming from his mouth nor the way his hips jerked forward. It had been  _ too _ long since he’d felt Ivan’s touch.

“Vanya.” Alfred gasped as Ivan released him to kiss his way down to his collarbone, suckling there as--there was a ripping noise and suddenly, Alfred was shirtless. The shredded remains sank to the bottom of the tub.

“Holy  _ shit _ .” Alfred breathed, very much turned on by the show of strength. At least the necklace--which Ivan had returned--remained. For sake of saving his pants from a similar fate, he tugged them off, along with his underwear and threw them on the lawn outside the pool. Alfred grabbed Ivan’s face and licked along his lips, tantalizing, teasing his tongue into the expanse of Ivan’s mouth. Their tongues tangled together, barely time to breathe before they met again.

Ivan’s grip on Alfred was tight enough to bruise, hands squeezing his waist and ass and Alfred mindlessly grinded down, seeking friction. He felt something bump against his back side and Ivan growled and started biting at Alfred’s neck in earnest.

Curious, Alfred looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see clearly, what with the way his glasses were falling off his face and Vanya was trying very hard to keep his attention elsewhere, but the biggest impression that he got was that Ivan hadn’t shrunk. And his penis looked  _ blue _ if Alfred’s eyes were to be believed. Another particularly hard bite had Alfred crying out, attention back forward and on Ivan.

“Vanya, Vanya. I want you. Please, take me. It’s been so long.” Shuddering, Alfred curled forward and whispered next to Ivan’s ear.

In response, Alfred felt one of the hands release his waist and creep down to rest a finger by his entrance, tracing the delicate and sensitive skin. One finger eased in and began wiggling, then pumping, the water keeping it slick. Alfred threw back his head and grinded his hips, making circles as swiftly a second was added. Alfred thought only vaguely about potential talons and if they might tear his skin, but the thought was lost to another wave of heat and lust. Ivan’s other hand had crept around to pump Alfred’s heated arousal.

At the sensations, Alfred keened and rocked forward. Ivan groaned and bit into Alfred’s clavicle. He mouthed along the skin, mumbling, “Alik, you’re so  _ soft _ ...yebat, ya hochu tebya.”

Alfred groaned and clutched at Ivan’s neck, levering his own attentions to it. It was then that he noticed the discoloration there, the few slits in his skin.  _ Gills? _ Alfred, experimentally, pressed kisses to the edges on the left side where he could reach, gently licking them with his tongue.

The reaction was instant and  _ violent _ . Ivan barked, and his whole body coiled and snapped. He reared up, Alfred still clutched in his arms and pinned Alfred in the pool beneath the surface. It was like deja vu and Alfred bucked to try and get air. After a second, Ivan pulled him above the surface, stammering, “I-I am so sorry! I do not know what came over me! Are you okay? Alfred? Alik!”

After coughing a bit, glasses well skewed, Alfred just reached up and planted a hot open mouthed kiss to Ivan’s gills. He  _ felt _ Ivan groan a rumble deep in his throat and  _ shuddered _ . Ivan slithered them forward (a collection of bruises from the floor would be found on Alfred’s back later), pressing Alfred into the wall of the tub. It was not the most comfortable, but the angle was good and Alfred could breathe. When they settled, Alfred licking and nibbling at Ivan’s throat, Ivan returned the favor with a harsh bite of his own. Enough to draw blood. Alfred cried out.

“Curse you, Alik.” It was a heavy, rough sound, and Alfred was sure he was drooling. The place Ivan bit throbbed, but he was fine with it. More than fine. He reached and yanked Ivan down into a kiss, tasting his own blood. He pulled away with a lecherous  _ smack _ , panting for air, Ivan shuddered.

The merman looked debauched, hair messy, blood and kiss marks weirdly blue in hue littering his skin. Alfred only got a close look before Ivan was fiercely nosing his way down the blonde’s throat, biting and sucking more. His position changed, leaning into Alfred’s leg and spreading them further. The fingers were back at it, prodding and stroking and very insistent. Alfred could only splutter, crying for relief, for mercy. 

Needless to say, words failed him. After  _ sufficient _ prep, Ivan withdrew his fingers, wasting no time to line up and thrust into Alfred with an inhuman growl. He gave Alfred a moment to collect himself before setting a brutal pace, his thickness pressing against every spot inside Alfred. The force of it cause the human’s arms to fly out, grasping rocks and dirt and Ivan to try and brace.

And Alfred keened, moaned, unable to temper his voice. It had been so long since he’d been this intimate with Ivan. He could barely focus as the heat ground into him. His head spun when Ivan leant down and locked lips, stealing his breath and sounds even as he made them. Alfred had to tear his head away to catch his breath, the heat, the closeness, the incessant thrusting and he was gasping for air. He gave up trying to fix the glasses and let them slide off onto the ground next to him. They were shoved back and forgotten for the next bit. Ivan leant down and bit into Alfred’s neck as the thrusting increased pace. The pain spiked itself through the pleasure and Alfred shouted. Ivan pulled back, lapping at the blood in apology.

He spoke low, voice soft and caressing Alfred’s ear. “I mark you as my mate. It’s binding, Alik, you’re  _ mine _ .” It made Alfred’s head spin, juxtaposed to Ivan’s relentless carnality. Alfred whimpered and reared up to try and return the bite, in effect gnawing at the skin under Ivan’s ear, well away from the sensitive gills. Ivan quivered and thrust impossibly harder, deeper. Alfred finally broke skin. Ivan let out a bark, dropping a hand to Alfred’s arousal and mercilessly squeezing, running over it, once twice--- white sparks and something hot splashed across his chest. He released Ivan’s throat to scream to the open sky.

Only after they both came down from the orgasmic high, and Alfred found breath again, he mumbled to Ivan’s shoulder “And you are mine. Always mine.”

Ivan pulled out slowly. The evidence of their activity swirled lazily in the water. They would later find it disgusting and go about changing it, but for the time, Ivan just pulled Alfred close. The blonde tiredly rested his head on Ivan’s chest. There was a sound coming out of it.

“Are you...crooning?” Alfred asked tiredly. In answer, Ivan just hugged Alfred tight and nuzzled him, petted him. The purring, cooing sound grew louder. “Fu-ckin...strange…” In effect, it lulled Alfred into sleep. He would wake up a few hours later pruny, cold and stiff, and angry about it. But for now. This was enough. He was lax from a post coital high with the one who’d colored his world (even if his lower parts changed, the ehm hardware was still very much intact). This man--merman--who, barely a day ago, he’d fair thought dead.

Alfred had never slept so soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Sometimes thoughts happen in my brain and the characters say "do it"


End file.
